


Beast of Burden

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5 Acts Meme, 5 Times, Action/Adventure, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Times The Iron Bull carried Dorian and one time Dorian carried Bull.</p><p>Now with ART on Chap7!! xD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Iron Bull Carries Dorian in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon/gifts).



> For a DAKM Prompt that has made me TOTALLY addicted to these 5 + 1 ideas (seriously, I need to find a couple more) though I lost my mind halfway through and brevity went out the window.
> 
> The Prompt:  
> Five times Iron Bull had to carry Dorian and one time Dorian tried to carry Bull, gave up, and levitated him instead.
> 
> Bonus for a nice mix of cute, fluffy, and serious!

**1 - Bull carries Dorian in the rain**

"Put me down you insufferable lummox!" Bull was well-mannered enough to keep his grin meek as he was buffeted about the head and neck by a very grumpy, very soggy Tevinter mage as their merry band hiked up a steep path on the Storm Coast. The onslaught may have been prompted by the fact that said mage was currently draped over one of the Qunari's huge shoulders like a sack of (soggy, ill-tempered, violently swearing) potatoes. Sera's over-loud, snorting laughter was certainly not helping the situation de-escalate. 

"Magey can't keep his footing on the slippery rocks so he has to be carried like an _iddy widdy baby_!" More snorting laughter as Dorian growled.

" _Vishante kaffas!_ I am not an invalid!"

"No, but I also can't risk someone of your talents toppling into the Waking Sea because the going is treacherous," the Inquisitor piped in, ever the peacemaker. Sera made a rude gesture and kept right on laughing at him.

Dorian folded his arms. He'd slipped _one time_ and suddenly he could not be trusted with his own feet? The nerve! The Bull was just following orders, or so he said, so for all Dorian's resolute struggling, he remained draped over the slab of grey muscle for the rest of the hike.

If Dorian kicked the great oaf when he was set down, it was _entirely_ on purpose.


	2. Bull Carries Dorian As They Retreat

**2 - Bull carries Dorian as they retreat**

"Solas!"

"Coming!" The apostate fell back, throwing a defensive Wall of Fire behind them at the surging number of bandits. Typically such groups were disorganized or, at the very least, badly equipped. Even when outnumbered, they rarely had issues. Now, though, sheer numbers and better-than-average equipment had pressed the four of them badly enough that the Inquisitor felt the need to fall back. He was sporting a few shallow knife wounds and a sluggish cut across one cheek where an arrow had come too close. Solas's spells were further and further apart, his mana tapped almost to its limit; Dorian's had cut off altogether and he had resorted to slashing at enemies that got too close with his stave. The Iron Bull was limping, having caught the swing of some lucky asshole with his bad knee. His maul had deflected the worst of it but the bruising had been deep and immediate.

"Bull!" The Qunari gutted his last standing enemy, hearing more coming through the pass behind Solas's flames. Seeing the merc's nod, the Inquisitor hollered for the last member of the party. "Dorian! Let's move!"

No answer.

Something deep down in Bull snarled a warning as his gut twisted. A cursory glance at the clearing did not yield any sign of the 'Vint. Given the brightness of his wardrobe he was rather hard to miss. Panic started to swell but a second look and Bull's eye just happened to catch the glint of sunshine off a buckle. Forcing his leg to its maximum possible speed, Bull gimped to the greenery that Dorian had sought refuge behind.

The mage's grey-green eyes fluttered open at Bull's approach; the Qunari's heart clenched as he saw the agony patterned across Dorian's features. An ugly arrow had hit home in the thick muscle where chest met shoulder. A second bolt had sunk deep in the meat of his side, a swath of crimson spreading down his ribs to his hip.

The Bull did not ask permission. He heard the Inquisitor's shout and slid his arms around Dorian, one tucked under his knees and the other behind his back. He allowed himself a growl as the arrowhead standing free out Dorian's back nicked Bull's skin. The mage groaned as he was lifted but leaned subconsciously into the study muscle of The Bull's chest.

"Stay with me 'Vint." Bull's voice was sturdier than he felt just then, limping behind the others. A warm hand patted his collarbone as long lashed lids fell closed.

"You shall not be free of me so easily, lummox," the mage assured him, and passed out. Bull nodded even though Dorian couldn't see.

He was okay with that.


	3. Bull Carries Dorian After a Night of Drinking

**3 - Bull carries Dorian after a Night of Drinking**

He'd been watching the 'Vint for the better part of two hours. Subtly, out of the corner of his eye, Bull was still managing to be fully engaged with his men and their ever-increasing volume while watching the normally audacious mage sulk. After awhile the sadness tugging at the mage's lips pissed him off and he crossed the bar, sitting heavily down on a nearby stool.

"How you doing Dorian?" He paused, waiting for the man to reply. The mage didn't, eyes fastened very resolutely on his tankard. "I know family stuff can be rough."

"What would _you_ know about it?" Dorian grumbled, aggressive. "Real Qunari don't _have_ families." 

"Finding out you don't fit in with the people who raised you?" An old ache yet never a dull one. "Having to walk away from everything you grew up with, knowing you've disappointed the ones who loved you?" Dorian was staring at his face now, rude or not, part of him just sober enough to understand The Iron Bull was showing him something he had not seen before. "I might know a bit. Takes a tough man to do it, too." A hand the size of a dinner plate clapped down on the mage's shoulder, nearly toppling him off his stool. "So...good on you, you big old fop."

Their profound moment ended with all the subtlety of a boulder to the face. "Yaaaay, good on me," Pavus offered up sardonically. The two sat for a few minutes, nursing their respective tankards. Bull watched the gears grinding away in his companion's head, almost audible, wondering what was wrong. Clearly whatever had happened when Dorian and his father spoke had gouged deeply into the former's overactive brain. 

"You're staring," Dorian said quietly. He would normally have followed that with a comment on his good looks but none came.

"I'm thinking."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," The Bull rumbled. "Thinking maybe you should give up trying to drown your sorrows, at least for tonight." 

"Oh, I'd like to leave," the 'Vint admitted.

"What's stopping you?" Dorian's eyes were heavy-lidded and he tucked his chin down as he smiled ruefully.

"I do not believe I can walk."

"You _are_ extremely drunk," The Bull said softly. Dorian let out a breathy laugh that held not an ounce of humor.

"'Extremely drunk' came and went an hour ago, to be perfectly forthright."

"Why didn't you stop then?" Bull asked quietly. It did not take Ben-Hassrath training to figure out the mage was in a bad spot. Across the room, Krem caught Bull's eye, saw the slight twitch of one of his chief's large hands. "You might be a bit of a drunkard but you aren't stupid."

"I would," he paused, contemplating. Bull felt a twang in his chest as Dorian swallowed around a sudden large lump in his throat, "-I would rather not be alone with my thoughts just now. Here, at least it is loud. My room is desolate." The mage cleared his throat, shoving his scuffed veneer back into place. He didn't do it quickly enough to keep the gleam of tears out of his eyes, however, nor smoothly enough to keep the Qunari from noticing.

"You could keep me company, 'long as you don't mind having a savage as a conversation partner."

"You have your men to keep you--" Dorian looked up blearily, a bit startled. The bar was far from empty but not a single Charger save Bull remained. Sharp mind slogging through drink he looked at the mercenaries' leader, surprised. He was more so when he saw the soft smile on Bull's scarred face.

"I have better booze in my place, too. You're welcome to it, if you want. Way more efficient at blocking out what ails you, believe me."

"All a ruse to get me into your quarters then?"

"'Might be. That a problem?" Dorian pondered that question a lot more seriously than Bull had intended (certainly not a bad thing, that,) but finally, he shook his head.

"No."

"No what?"

"No, it isn't a problem." The mage took a big breath, shaking off something Bull couldn't quite see. "If I am as reprehensible as my father seems to think, a savage Qunari propositioning me hardly seems inappropriate." Bull grinned despite the bleak, defeated look on Dorian's face. 

"Good choice." He stood, bad knee creaking. A quick grab caught the 'Vint's elbow as he followed the Bull to his feet and began to topple sideways. "Do you need me to carry you?"

_So fierce, that scowl_ the bigger male thought, giving his remaining eye a nice slow wink in response. Dorian's scoff was as eloquent as he could manage...which as drunk as he was, wasn't very.

Dorian didn't have much choice about The Bull keeping a grip on his elbow, given that he'd have never made it off the barstool without it, let alone up the stairs at the back of the tavern. The Iron Bull's room was cleaner than he’d supposed it to be. 

“Your quarters are...not what I expected, I admit.” 

“I seem to surprise you an awful lot,” the Qunari said quietly. Dorian shivered, ever so slightly, at Bull’s breath on his ear.

“Yes. Well. Perhaps I shall be less inclined to admit it out loud next time.” Bull sat on the bed, scooting back to lean against the headboard as the mage let out an enormous yawn. A quick tug on the corner of his robe yanked him off balance, Dorian toppling to land beside Bull in a heap. The Qunari’s laugh was full-throated and loud, accompanied by snarled swearing in Tevene as the mage struggled to right himself. In the tizzy he threw, one of his feet hit the Bull straight in the face. The savage took the opportunity to catch the ankle, grin at Dorian, and pluck his boot off. Given the sight of the embarrassed flush of the 'Vint's cheeks and how clearly he'd been forced out of his troubled thoughts, Bull decided it was a win. Continued believing as such even as he was menaced with a second boot. The ensuing roughhousing was the innocuous fumbling of the intoxicated, the Qunari taunting until Dorian ran out of swears in three different languages, his heated tirades increasingly punctuated by yawns.

The mage fell asleep sometime later, curled up in a tight ball against the Qunari's side. Bull followed not long after while still leaning against the headboard. By the time morning rolled around he had a crick in his neck and the 'Vint was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I noticed a little bit late that technically Bull _didn't_ carry Dorian in this one...I am failsauce. He DID offer, though!


	4. Bull Carries Dorian After an Ill-Considered Night of Drinking

**4 - Bull carries Dorian after an _Ill Considered_ Night of Drinking**

The second time the two of them made the trip up the stairs together was several weeks later. They had never really spoken of the first time, Bull content to leave be (for once) and Dorian too mortified to say much. Moments of weakness like the one the Qunari had observed holed up deep in the mage's chest, waiting for any moment of quiet to burst forth like an unwelcome relative, loud and demeaning and unwanted. A constant reminder of how easy it was to disappoint; a pressing need to keep the walls where they were meant to be. 

It was a losing battle, though. There was an attraction between he and Bull. Much as he hated it, much as he resisted. The lummox was in his thoughts constantly, it seemed; the feeling of those massive arms tucked around him was in his dreams, waking and nighttime versions both. There was an energy between them, thinly veiled in Bull's incessant flirting and the blush that he never managed to avoid even as he sputtered. There was a sense of magnetism, an ephermeral tugging at Dorian's feet that kept him within small distances of the Qunari in the field; in camp; in the tavern. Worst of all, he had a very distinct feeling that The Bull knew all these things, too. He was simply content to _wait._

 _The inevitable can only be avoided for so long_ Dorian acquiesced mentally, face scant inches from a wall of grey muscle. Scarred lips were kissing, nipping, teasing at the flesh of his throat; the hammer of his heartbeat thudded a loud cadence under the assault of those lips. He had been drinking (not enough for this) and simply had to get this _infatuation_ out of his system (at least, such was what he told himself. Loudly. Several times a moment. For roughly the last twenty minutes at least.)

 _“Dorian_.” Insistent, Bull pushed the mage back against the thick wooden door, easing off his ministrations and having to quash a chuckle at the needy, irate noise Dorian loosed in response. The ‘Vint actually growled, deep and low under his breath.

“ _What?_ ” Bull leaned in, huge arms caging the mage on either side. The Qunari’s face loomed an inch from Dorian’s throat, his teeth ever-so-slightly nipping one additional time at that long expanse of smooth flesh. He dragged in a long, slow inhale.

“You smell fucking _fantastic.”_

“All this talk of conquering and now you’re telling me I smell nice? You are hopeless.” Strong hands very suddenly grabbed hold underneath his thighs, firm and unyielding. The mage swore as his feet left the ground. Not something he was used to, being manhandled. Firstly because he was an Altus; secondly because he was tall and while narrow of build, he was solid. Most of his flings could not have lifted him at all, let alone doing so as easily as one might lift an errant backpack. He gasped as his back thudded roughly into the Maker-damned door again but the sound was very quickly muffled under the press of Bull's lips, hot and insistent against his own. 

One huge thumb rubbed a small circle, patience and desire patterned against the flesh of Dorian's thigh. He shuddered; he couldn't help it. The little gasp that escaped him was equally involuntary. Bull stopped kissing him, his eye dark and questioning as he pulled back and evaluated the mage's face, losided grin tugging at his features. Dorian would have folded his arms over his chest to show his displeasure, had he not been gripping the Qunari's massive shoulders for balance. Hard to look properly disdainful while his ass hovered in the open air. 

"What is it _now?_ " he sniffed. _**Really** not drunk enough for this._ Anxious, dreading being dismissed, the mage started rambling, carving his way out with words. "Are you all talk? Having second thoughts about going to bed with the enemy? Do you need more drink to get over your reservations?" 

"Katoh." 

"...What?" The grin on Bull's face crept wider; the mage gulped. 

"Katoh is the word you say if you want it to stop. No questions asked. But for what it's worth 'Vint," Bull's voice dropped to the bottom of its register, "-I don't think you're going to want me to stop."

The trip to the bed was a short one. Dorian admitted the Bull was right via omission, that night. He didn't need more liquor and he didn't need that word. 


	5. Bull Carries Dorian Out of His Own Thoughts

**5 - Bull Carries Dorian Out of His Own Thoughts**

The Smite slammed into him like a maul, crushing the air from his lungs in an unimpressive _Whoosh_ of choked breath. Dorian's body gave up standing, all shreds of mana ripped out of his reach: too much to bear, what with the intensity of this fight that had nearly drained him dry even before the damn Templar had intervened. Something had already clipped him earlier on, blood running down his face from his temple. Annoying now, since it made his head buzz. Past that he could hear the sounds of battle--screams, roars, the occasional thud and whine of metal on metal--and it was as his arse met the snow-covered rock underfoot that distantly, absurdly, he found himself wondering it the Iron Bull was alright. The lummox had charged in with a roar like always and Dorian had sent a Barrier down over him as he ran, also like always. No sense, that man: a thought the Tevinter had to shake off physically with a shudder.

The Red Templar approached, bearing down on him with a warhammer sickeningly similar to the one the aforementioned Qunari had been wielding lately, actually. A gift from the Inquisitor, a big shiny thing made of Dawnstone and reinforced with specialized runes Dagna had made and _why in the Maker's name was he thinking about that right now..._

The Templar leered at him, grinning with teeth that looked wrong and eyes that were shimmering crimson with their own inner light. Body numb yet somehow aching, the mage had the presence of mind to at least attempt a retreat. The best he managed was an uncoordinated crab-walk backwards, hands scrambling and sliding in the snow. Blood from his hands seeped from gashes gained when he'd lost his staff-- _when had he lost it?_ \--and suddenly the Templar was **right there** and Dorian could count every one of his teeth, see the enemy's muscles clench as he raised the hammer overhead to smash Dorian dead right there in the scattered, bloody snow.

The warhammer came down in slow motion, Dorian's vision tunneling. He imagined he should close his eyes but he wanted to see his end, meet it dead on, take the last blow he'd ever take with his head held high and his _horns pointing up_ \--

\--and something in him broke in that suspended second, electric and clear and painful all at once. He heard it in his head and in his heart, a mantra that wasn't his own. The saying's inexplicable presence in his thoughts made all the months of 'something' make sense, unknown and overwhelming and irresistibly _warm_. Dorian Pavus suddenly understood that a Qunari meant the world to him and _**now he got it**_ and then he hurt because it was too bloody late. Fate had a grand sense of humor: that hammer was coming down and he was leaving the Bull behind in the most final of ways just as he pieced the puzzle together. 

Real-time resumed around him, shimmering gold fading with a long, breathless exhale and the downsweep of a glinting hammer.

The Bull's cross-swing was so close that it tugged at Dorian's hair as it swept past, rustling strands loose to tickle his forehead. The weapon's pink sheen in the sunlight gleamed merrily as it slammed into the Templar so hard he hit the ground in three pieces, his own hammer knocked off-kilter and spiralling off to the right. The moment was surreal, visage of the attacking Templar and his down-swung hammer replaced by the Iron Bull and his side-swing, defending him instead. Fallen to favored in less than a blink. Saved by a pair of rigid horns and heaving, massive shoulders and the confusing man attached to them.

There was something ragged in the Qunari's breathing that had nothing to do with the fighting; Dorian realized this but said nothing. He just blinked up at the Bull, lips parted as he panted frigid air back into empty lungs. One steel grey eye scanned around them before softening, as gentle as the big hand that brushed his errant hair back from his face.

"You alright Kadan?" Ragged voice, too, but there was no asking about that, or the meaning of the word in Qunlat he'd never heard before. Instead, Dorian took the hand offered to him, coming back to his feet without his magic or his thoughts collected.

"No mana," he croaked. Bull nodded.

"Just stay behind me."


	6. +1 - Dorian Tries to Carry Bull and Levitates Him Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venatori, amongst other transgressions, just do _not_ know what's good for them.
> 
> (two parter...it's REALLY LONG)

Not a thing went according to plan, Bull had learned. Ever. One simple excursion away from camp to help a few Inquisition soldiers while the Inquisitor was off collecting shards with the others. No big deal, right? Right.

Bull feinted back, shattering a man's frozen form into a billion tiny flecks of people-colored glass, bits of flesh tone and steel grey (but mostly red) visible behind the blue sheen of the frost. His maul whirled, catching a heavily armored 'vint before he could snag Cole. The soldier let out a gurgle as the heavy plate of his chest armor buckled, slamming his innards into his back-plate in a wet symphony of death. Bull caught a glimpse of Cole's wide blue eyes before the spirit lunged back into cover, cloaking himself. There was a shriek, bloodless and long, as he landed blades-first on a spellcaster's shoulders a few moments later. 

They were fighting Venatori in a collapsing ruin's corridor, because of _course_ they were. The Inquisition soldiers at the ruin hadn't been beset by a cave-in, as the runner had thought, but rather an ambush. There were more mages and foot soldiers than the Qunari wanted to think about. They were good, he and Dorian and Cole and Blackwall, but they were outnumbered three to one by enemies he could see--there were likely more closing in on them from elsewhere in the ruin. They, however, had no backup incoming. He was pretty sure the rest of the Inquisition's people were already dead.

A pin prick of pain bloomed in Bull's left shoulder, almost a mute hurt against the cacophony of battle. Pain was always a delayed response behind the red wave of bloodlust that undulated his sight and hammered in his ears. He thought nothing of it, growling aloud as another well-placed swing of his hammer crushed a casting mage to the ground mid-spell. Blackwell feinted from a soldier's lunge and fell back to back with Bull, rotating in place for a moment. The two warriors appraised the scene, taking in where they were pressed the worst. A shimmering blue light flickered around them--the barely-there physical feeling of Dorian's barrier settled like a second set of weightless plate--and the two dove back into fighting range in unison.

One heartbeat later, though, concern roared to the forefront for the qunari. A brute loomed in front of him, a massive sword in his hands. Bull roared a challenge and blocked the big human's swing only to feel his arms spasm a little under strain. The Venatori was big and heavily armored, but still had very little bulk as compared to the Iron Bull. A slash of panic crossed his mind as the enemy swung again. He blocked...and was forced backwards as the brute's force proved too much for him to hold his ground against.

The air near his face blazed hot suddenly; Bull felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight as the biting, sterile smell of ozone built. He knew what was coming and dodged left, knowing that the attack would never come on his blind side, and kept the hammer up just in case. Right on cue a bolt of lightning shot past his shoulder and hit home against the Venatori's helmet. The man twitched and spasmed for a solid five seconds before collapsing in a heap of metal and charred meat after having served as a de facto lightning rod. 

Bull felt keen eyes on him from across the fight, knowing their mage was staring at him and wondering why the hell Bull was faltering. He wish he knew, himself. 

At least they were thinning the enemy numbers. He wavered a bit, trying to regain his balance while watching Cole slit a female mage's throat and slide back into stealth before the warrior beside her could hit him. Blackwall killed his opponent, shoving the body off his blade with the edge of his shield as he shored up his stance, sinking his weight to the balls of his feet to await another challenger. The Warden saw the soldier lunging after Cole and scored a deep slice to the man's back, letting the spirit circle back to finish the job before fading from view. A breath later a wall of scorching flames leapt into being amid a cry of effort from Dorian, blocking them off from the immediate flood of more enemies. A moment's reprieve.

The open air on Bull's left shimmered as he spun, sensing the incoming assassin before he could materialize, bringing up his hammer to 'ready' position at his shoulder. As he did so, though, the air his lungs got stuck, clinging as he tried to exhale and found he couldn't. The effort of lifting the weapon made his arms shake, weakness and tremors spreading from the left side of his chest like an earthquake's aftershocks. Each couple of seconds that passed brought another wave that reached further than the former. 

_The barely-there pain from earlier._ Bull glanced down at a small silver knife hilt standing free of his pectoral muscle as his legs ceased to obey him. Groaning, he sunk to his knees in what felt like slow motion. His leg brace creaked and the dawnstone hammer slid from trembling fingers to clatter loudly against the stone floor, the ringing like a great cracked bell in the momentary quiet.

_Poisoned,_ he realized and felt the stealthed rogue draw closer. _Shit._

Dorian panted, leaning heavily on his staff as he pushed his sweat out of his eyes. The fire he raised in the doorway roared higher, keeping more Venatori from coming at them. Throwing back a lyrium potion--his last, _lovely_ \--he began casting another fire spell to unleash through the first down the hallway. Blackwall's shout interrupted him; Dorian held the spell and turned, fire dancing up and down the length of his staff in twining tendrils of orange and red.

"Bull!" The big man was down on his knees. Something was clearly wrong, judging from how slumped his was, face paled to a chalky greyish white, hands gripped white-knuckled around the haft of his hammer, the head of which was on the floor. Behind him a figure in the dark leathers of an assassin was poised, twin knives drawn. One was held an inch from the Bull's back, a promise; the other was outstrched towards Dorian and Blackwall, a challenge. A command. 

"You will yield or he dies," the enemy growled. 

"Unlikely," Blackwall growled, shield up and sword ready. He did not advance, however, being too far to make it fast enough. The rogue looked at him once before turning his focus back to Dorian.

"Drop the fire wall. Now." Pavus just stared him down, flames spiralling around him flaring brighter. Bull grunted as the tip of the knife slid into the trapezius muscle on his left side, sinking in a few inches. 

The flames blocking off the hallway died, flickering out of existence.

Enemies flooded into the room, surrounding the three of them. Dorian's fists clenched and Blackwall snarled and tried to close distance, get closer to the mage; the Venatori stopped them, keeping a half-dozen soldiers in between each of them, as well as the Bull. A spellcaster entered last, likely one of the ring leaders, his heavy black cowl pulled back enough that his grin was obvious even through the shadows it cast.

"How interesting we should find three of the Inquisition's soldiers still alive amongst so many of our brethren, but then, you are not just any soliders, are you?" He observed them coldly. "Enough of the ruse. You've lost. You will lay down your weapons and yield. **Now."**

Blackwall glanced around the room once before uttering a low grunt of grudging acquiescence, sliding his shield off his arm and dropping to one knee to place both before him on the floor. Bull swore internally, knowing this was his fault. 

"Now you, mage," the Venatori sneered. "Enough of your vainglory. Drop the spell and kneel before your betters." 

After a very pointed moment of waiting, the flames circling their mage's staff died down, finally vanishing completely. Dorian was just close enough that Bull could see the dangerous glint in his eye and the tick of a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw. He placed his staff on the ground, raising back to his full height as his gaze smouldered. Up went that arrogant chin and the Qunari swore he could hear the air around him humming. It made his ears twitch, an itch down at the base of his throat, but on the inside--an annoyance he couldn't reach to alleviate. It made him want to fidget and yet he couldn't, body sluggish and unresponsive. Meanwhile, his... _the_ 'Vint was still continuing to disobey orders. Tension began to build in the room, the heat nearly as palpable as it had been from the fire spells before. How did the other 'vints not notice? 

“You heard him," one of the Venatori soldiers growled finally, reaching out to shove the mage to the ground. His tone was sharp with impatience. "Kne--” The moment the soldier’s hand found Dorian’s shoulder his entire body erupted in flames, a spiral of fire that leapt from his fingertips to the ground in an instant. He stumbled back but didn't scream; he just crumpled, armor blackened and body more so as the smell of cooked meat rose. Dorian’s fists were clenched at his sides but he did not move, did not flinch as the man behind him collapsed. The only noticeable evidence of his part in the spell came as the mage's lips parted. Dorian’s teeth were clenched as tightly as his hands were, perfect and white, but as those lips opened Bull saw a few wisps of dark smoke curl free, dissipating in the air with his soft exhale. The glint of magic had faded from his eyes, replaced instead by heavy, unrepentant hatred. 

“ _Altus_ ” someone behind Bull whispered, almost reverently. Of course the other 'Vints would figure it out. Clearly they all had, as no one was eager to move forward for another try at making him kneel. The spellcaster who seemed to be in charge snarled, apparently weighing his options. The Qunari knew Dorian to be doing the same. Judging by the way his eyes flickered around the room Pavus was doing the math on how many of the arseholes he could drop before one of his friends got hurt. It was not a promising equation and Bull was not the only one to realize it. 

"You will kneel or we will kill the warrior, and the oxman." The man behind Blackwall called a fire spell into his hands; Bull found his head dragged back by a grip on one horn, a knife pressed against his throat. Dorian still did not submit, holding his ground. Warring with himself. Weighing his options. Calculating their odds of survival. 

Bull could barely keep himself on his knees, feeling the effects of the poison seep in further and further, the weight of his body dragging him downwards. _Damn 'Vint's and their damn poison..._

The spellcaster advanced then on Dorian, palm glittering with a spell. When he spoke again it was spit through gritted teeth. "You. Will. Kneel." Bull half expected Pavus to refuse. 


	7. +1 (Part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here is the second half :) REALLY got away from me and took forever, thanks for your patience, all!
> 
> ALSO: OMG the fabulous AsheRyder made two amazing pics to accompany this fic and I am finally able to edit my old chap summaries!!! PLEASE check these out:
> 
>  
> 
> [We'll never get him to stop](http://deliriumexmachina.tumblr.com/post/115923399722/picture-from-dichotomous-dragons-beast-of)
> 
>  
> 
> [Looking like something out of legend!!](http://deliriumexmachina.tumblr.com/post/116132209547/another-picture-from-dichotomous-dragons-beast)

The big Qunari was startled to see the Altus's grey eyes slide to him, lingering on him, before he finally acquiesced. He dropped mutely to his knees and had barely made it to the ground before one of the soldiers had rushed forward, emboldened. The sound his gauntlets made as he struck the mage was accompanied by a sharp hiss of pain. A few more blows fell to land Dorian on all fours. The soldier's metal-clad hands had one of his arms screwed up behind his back, the other tangled in the mage's hair to drag his head back.

"Magebane!" the spellcaster sneered, equal parts taunt and order. Dorian glowered up at him, immobile, as one of the other soldiers scurried to comply. The armored man headed for a pack of supplies but was intercepted; he accepted the requested vial of liquid from a fellow he didn't quite look at before turning on his heel and bolting back to the Venatori leader. The man got _very_ impatient.

 

Bull faded in and out after that. It took the 'Vints' two biggest soldiers to drag him deeper into the ruins, he knew that much. Beyond that it was a lot of wavering colors, muted sounds, and uneven floors tearing at his knees. Bull never managed to _fully_ pass out, hearing just enough rapid Tevene around him to start to worry he was somewhere he wasn't. 

_Floors are rock, light grey--Ferelden make, not the coarse tan sandstone of the island. The plants are everywhere, even in here, but the leaves are small and utilitarian, not massive and broad, waving in a salty breeze._ What little sense he could make of anything he repeated to himself. Facts to keep his mind grounded while his body ignored his requests of it. The correlation made him thankful he was groggy from the poison and not hallucinating; the last thing he needed just then was to have a full-blown flashback to Seheron. Just the thought of it made him sweat, thick beads of moisture trailing down his muscles and running in rivulets between his scars.

Not that any of Bull's thoughts on anything mattered. Their enemies had figured out they were not ordinary Inquisition and that was apparently enough to get them to refrain from killing them (at least until someone decided to question them, he supposed) and as such, the Venatori had to figure out a solution for keeping him contained while not dead. Blackwall and Dorian were nowhere to be seen, hauled off in a different direction. Dungeon, probably. Bull's captors, however, apparently did not trust bars to hold him.

They stopped dragging him long enough to chain Bull's arms behind him and then they dropped him in a hole. A pit, more specifically, and judging by the unwholesome crunching from beneath his boots when he landed, Bull wasn't the first person who'd ended up at the bottom of what was basically a twenty-foot-deep dry well. The walls were just the wrong side of slimy, damp to the touch. It reeked of death and other things equally unpleasant and helped quell the Qunari's nausea and unease not at all.

He didn't want to give the bastards the satisfaction but couldn't help it; he growled aloud in pain when he hit the bottom. Bull was heavy and his leg was bad and with his arms tied he had nothing to slow his fall. The loud snap of metal breaking accompanied his bad leg folding under his weight. He couldn't check it, could only feel the stab of pain that grew from a single sluice of nagging discomfort into a flurry of it, a swarm of wasps stinging him through the heavy haze of the poison, muffling but not protective.

 _Assess the damage and the situation. Catalogue options and alternatives._ Mind tumbling back into old Ben-Hassrath habits Bull tried to figure out how to help himself, even if he had to wait til the poison's effects subsided. Trying to look around yielded nothing; dull, scratching thuds were all he managed, his horns spanning almost the entire width of the pit.

It figured. He wasn't poisoned enough to pass out but was too big to rearrange himself into anything resembling a comfortable position. Groaning, he leaned as far back as his horns would allow and settled in to wait.

 

It might have been two hours; it might have been four. Dorian couldn't tell and didn't care--either was far too long--and as such he stalked. He paced his cell like a lion caged, hands flexing and lips curled back in a silent snarl. His stomach was in knots from more than just worry, blue power surging at the end of every nerve, sluicing through his veins white-hot and relentless but out of reach. _Fucking magebane!_ He literally growled aloud then, the dissonance in his blood more than his corporeal form was wont to handle.

"Dorian," Blackwall said quietly from the next cell. He started a bit when the mage turned to glare, grey eyes nearly glowing in the wane light. Before he could open his mouth to ask, though, the door to the dungeon hall creaked open, admitting two Venatori soldiers.

_"What's wrong, altus, miss your oxman?"_ one of the guards sneered at him in Tevene. The mage didn't bother with a response, continuing his pacing. At least he did 'til the second man opened his mouth.

" _Damn shame they culled the beast then, isn't it?_ " Pavus froze; nerves that were humming before fell still, too, locked up by frigid disbelief.

**No.** Out loud he said: "You're lying." Their answering laughter rang off the walls, overloud. White noise in his ears rapidly began to drown them out.

"What use did they have for him alive?" the first guard said, slipping into Trade. "Nothing but a liability. You at least have some worth as a ransom. Oxmen are good for nothing but carrion. A _proper_ Tevinter would know that."

Something in his chest tore and nearly ripped him asunder and against all sense, Dorian's teeth bared in a feral smile. 

 

A roar of sound echoed down the the hole, so loud Bull winced from the force of it. It was a rumbling, reverberating, continuing peal; someone must have loosed thunder torn from the sky itself from the power of the noise. It didn't stop, either, echoes fading to half their strength before another strike rattled the stone underfoot anew. 

"The Iron Bull, can I help you? I don't know what to do, you are too heavy for me to lift." Bull was not sure how he heard Cole over the racket. He couldn't see him, couldn't get his head tilted back far enough to look up at him.

"The others okay?" He was mealy-mouthed and still sweating; the poison hadn't abated much yet.

"Cunning, cursing, he cuts them down with fire and ice and every other spell he knows, blue light burning behind him."

"That's _Dorian_ making that racket, kid?" It sounded like gaatlok cannons fired at point blank range. Destruction in wave after wave of unyielding fire and smoke. Yeah, actually...that pretty much sounded like Dorian, stuck in close quarters and pissed off enough, Bull didn't doubt for a moment he could bring the whole place down around their ears.

"He's raging, ragged. _Revenge._ " Cole says quietly, his way of answering. "He can't hear through the lie, the Iron Bull."

"Blackwall with him?"

"Yes." The hazy quality came back into the spirit's voice as he slipped into the warrior's presence. "He doesn't stop. Lightning and rage and Maker, the power," a pause as Cole slid into his own voice, still listening to the Warden. "He's never seen Dorian look so furious. His face is pale, pallid; all his masks cast aside. He looks like something out of legend, vengeful and violent, robes billowing behind him like a black shroud." Cole went back to his shaky imitation of Blackwall, "He thinks they killed him. _Maker,_ please tell me they didn't kill him. We'll never get him to stop." Bull swallowed thickly. Hearing the mage's reaction, even third hand via Cole, it felt like a confession. The kid didn't really give him time to ponder, though, eyes darting to a corridor in a gesture the Bull couldn't see. >

"They're getting closer!" Cole said suddenly. "He thinks they killed you, The Iron Bull. Can you call to him? He can't hear me through the hurt. I'll make sure he comes this way." Bull nodded and assumed Cole saw it as he didn't hear anything else. He waited for the peals of thunder to abate, assuming the delay in spells meant Cole had reached their friends 

"Dorian," Bull called and coughed, the sound barely audible. Footsteps were just barely audible on the flagstones. Clearing his throat Bull tried again, louder this time. "Hey! Mind getting me out of this damn hole before you bring the place down, Kadan?" The footsteps got quicker, nearer. 

" _Vishante kaffas,_ " someone snarled above him and, profanity or not, it made a tiny bit of warmth flare through Bull's chest, the first tinders of fire as they're coaxed into flames. 

"How are we going to get him out of there? Perhaps a--" 

"Just step back, I will take care of it." Eerie grey-blue light twined down into the pit and Bull tensed; the ethereal tendrils of magic coiled around him, under him, slightly warm. It was very strange, feeling like nothing so much as overdense fog. Bull felt himself lift into the air and held his breath.

As his horns and head cleared the top of the dry well the qunari took in the others: Cole, dishevelled but smiling faintly; Blackwall, armor scuffed but in one piece; Dorian... Dorian's arms were slowly rising, light pooled in his hands of the same color as the magic around Bull. His leathers were dirty; his hair and mustache were dishevelled and the qunari winced at how aggressively their enemies must have died for the mage to look so out of sorts. 

Bull found himself gently placed onto the ground and arranged his legs in front of him to keep further pressure off his busted brace and the sore leg it was fastened to. The warmth of the magic faded, replaced by two slim hands and a pair of sharp grey eyes assessing him inch by inch as Dorian knelt before him. A set of deft fingers was working on the chains as well; Bull rumbled his thanks to Cole as the manacles fell away, rolling his big shoulders and working the kinks from arms that were none too pleased. 

There was a softness to Dorian's face he hadn't seen there while the mage was awake; unguarded and raw, twisted in a look halfway between relief and something painful as he checked Bull for serious injury. It was visible in the downturned corners of his lips, the fluttered, rapid blinking that tugged at the corners of his eyes. The small laugh lines that accompanied those same two features were folded incorrectly, pulling a visage more prone to smiling into one more demure. Bull didn't like the look one bit, frowning himself. 

"Stop that," Dorian said quietly, looking up. He brought his palms to Bull's cheeks and startled the larger man out of his revelry. "You are rather obvious you know, sitting there trying to figure out if I am the one hurting. Simply preposterous. Stop worrying after me, you damned selfless oaf." 

"You smell like lyrium." Off-topic and safe, Bull decided. Dorian sniffed. 

"I took rather a lot of it, Amatus." The word was new; the mage looked a bit stricken for a second but the panicked expression faded very quickly. The look that replaced it--jaw set, chin slightly up, eyes still taking in the Bull--was more like his resolute norm, though the qunari knew there was something else still off. 

"You hate the stuff," he said, instead of mentioning his other observations. "You're going to be sick and whining for days." Bull doesn't say it but the question is there, loud in its omission and in the meaning of an epithet he's never heard before. _Why? Why do all that?_ Even as he thought to ask, he realized might already know. 

"I do not suffer my foolish countrymen, Bull. You know this. Besides, we have our friend Cole to thank as well." Cole smiled sheepishly, grin widening under the shadow cast by his hat. "He was quick enough to dump the magebane the Ventori force-fed me earlier."

"The bottle had to be the same, but not. I poured out the poison and replaced it with potion." 

"Lyrium potion, to be precise. There was enough residual magebane in the philter to quash my magic for a short while. I had, however, just taken a potion of my own. To consume a second dose only to immediately have my casting ability severed by the residual magebane, all while the power continued to build...It was...uncomfortable, to say the least." True, perhaps, but Bull wasn't buying that explanation as the only reason and Dorian knew it. 

"We'll fetch something to use as a stretcher," Blackwall's gruff voice sounded suddenly. Within a moment he and the spirit were gone, allowing the two of them a moment of privacy. After a moment the mage gave a little exhale through his nose, almost a sigh, and leaned in, resting his forehead against Bull's. When he spoke again the bravado was gone, replaced by something much gentler. Much more genuine. "Are you badly hurt? I...Maker, Bull, I thought they'd killed you." 

"I'll be alright Kadan, just a bit bruised," Bull said. Dorian let out a disbelieving huff but the qunari placed a hand on the mage's shoulder and felt the tension coiled in the muscle beneath. "Cole told me you...well. You OK?" 

A laugh no louder than a whisper taunted in that cultured, rich voice of his: "What did I say, hmm? Must I repeat myself?" His voice was very soft, far more gentle than he normally allowed. "You're alive, Bull, and mostly undamaged, as are the rest of us. The bastards that did it are dead." Another sigh, this one heavy with meaning both explicit and otherwise. "I could not be more fine." 

Bull didn't get a chance for a witty retort. Dorian shifted in the small distance between them, still holding his lover's face, and pressed their lips together. Usually their kisses were fiery and urgent, passionate and almost feral. This was...nothing like that. Pressing, but gently; urgent, but not in the rampant, rambunctious way it normally happened behind closed doors. 

"We, uhh...is it...?" Bull fumbled, tired and bruised and stumbling across territory he had never navigated before. 

"Whatever 'it' is," Dorian remarked, "I promise I will give it my best." The last was said quietly but certain nonetheless. 

"Sounds good, Kadan." Then, because he couldn't resist, "-only if you carry me outta here, though." The 'vint flicked Bull's ear, his laugh quiet but worth it. 

"As you say, Amatus. Just this once." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY want to do another one of these and actually stay short like the first one or two -_____-


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